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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE OAK 
AMONGST THE PINES 

And Other Poems 



By 
J. Darl Henderson 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
1909 



Copyright 1909 by J. D. Henderson 



All Rights Reserved 



T S -?, S" I s' 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



!Ci.A253324 



DEDICATORY NOTE 

It is with a feeling of unworthiness that the 
author of this Httle volume ventures to dedicate 
its contents to the members of that large and 
growing body of business men associated under 
the name of United Commercial Travelers. 

As a member of that* guild the author is pleased 
to record his belief in its uplifting influence upon 
its members and the work in which they are en- 
gaged. 

The commercial travelers of America play a 
great and increasingly important role in the 
economic exchanges of our country. They are 
a body of men whose members exert a powerful 
influence in the affairs of the nation. 

The United Commercial Travelers, under the 
inspiration of their ideals of Unity, Charity, and 
Temperance, seek to enhance the intelligence, the 
honor, and the good citizenship of the great body 
of which they are a part. 

It is, therefore, out of sincere respect for his 
many brothers at work under the same high ideals 
of service that the author begs to dedicate to them 
this initial volume of verse, with the hope that 
its readers may receive from its pages something 
of the same inspiration to a nobler and happier 
life which has been his in the writing. 

J. D. Henderson 



CONTENTS 

The Oak Amongst The Pines 11 

I Slept, I Woke 16 

To My Loves 17 

The Woods At Mid-day 18 

When Baby Pat-a-cakes 21 

Self Criticism 22 

Back Where The Sorghum Grew 23 

A Little Girl's Complaint 25 

From Whence Is Poetry ? 26 

Two Girls 28 

The Bird And His Song 29 

Proverb 31 

My Red Top Boots 32 

On Finding A Half-filled Flask 36 

True Love 38 

Autumn 39 

What's Your Hurry ? 40 

Count Your Blessin's 42 

Life 45 

Death 46 

False Accusation 47 

Proverb 48 

A Mother's Token 49 

The Dawn 50 

Just A While 51 

In Honor Of Old M. C 52 

False Security 53 

Proverb 54 

My Pot Of Gold 55 

5 



The Days It Rains 57 

Our Baby 58 

From Cradle To Grave 60 

To A Sister 61 

On Finding A Coin 62 

Good Character 64 

The Fellers Comin' 65 

The Unexpressed 66 

What Am I? 68 

Uncle Ben's Philosophy 69 

Three Little Girls Of Mine 71 

My Runty Pig 72 

Just A Little Cottage 76 

But Leave A Thorn 78 

To The Hangman 79 

A Fireplace Dream 81 

Can't Fool St. Peter 84 

My Old Playmate 85 

Too Busy 87 

Who Likes A Toad ? 89 

My King Had Gone 91 

The Old Grindstone 92 

When I Was Wooing You 93 

A Morning Soliloquy 94 

Live And Let Live 96 

Every Year 98 

The Voice Within 100 

Mississippi 102 

A Spring Song 105 

The Ladder In The Air 106 

The Plain Old Church 108 

6 



A Neighbor 109 

A Baby Ill 

Proverb 112 

Redeemed 113 

Be Ready 115 

It Must Be Summer 116 

One Day Lost 118 

A Comin' Home From School 120 

Carousin' 'Round At Night 122 

An Awful Blunder 124 

Smile Away That Frown 125 

The Genuine 126 

Practical Proverb 128 

Don't Kill The Birds 129 

Things That Hadn't Ought To Be 130 

More Taffy And Less Epitaphy 132 

There Is Proof For Me 134 

For Yoursel', Willie 136 

I Am What I Am 138 

Beyond The Night 139 

Songs That Live 140 

God In Everything 142 

Thy Sire 144 

Bobbie Burns 145 



THE OAK AMONGST THE PINES 



THE OAK AMONGST THE PINES 

Out of the west came a wind that blew, 
Over the hills where the oak trees grew; 
Trying the wood with its mighty sweep, 
Where grew an oak rooted firm and deep. — 
Then with a mightier blast came forth 
Deadlier hurricane from the north, 
Trying the sturdy old oak that stood 
King of his kind in his native wood. 

Then came a wind from the northern east, 
Driving to shelter both man and beast; 
Heaping the field and the wood with snow. 
Playing its fury on friend and foe. — 
Autumn and winter and spring winds blew, 
Over the hills where the oak trees grew; — 
Year after year still the old oak stood. 
Honored by all in his native wood. 

Then came a wind from the torrid south, 
Bearing its burden of heat and drouth; 
Leaving a desert on every side, 
Trying the oak which the storms had tried .- 
Over the hills and the plains it sped. 
Leaving the fields all withered and dead; 
Leaving the oak, which had proudly stood, 
Wearied of life in his native wood. 

Ag^d and tired of his native clime; 
Dreaming of woods that were more sublime ;- 
11 



Sweeter the dream, as a soft wind blew, 
Breathing a story more strange than true; 
Telling of woods in the balmy South, 
Knowing no hurricane, snow, or drouth. — 
Proudly today where the old oak stood, 
Stands a new king in his native wood. 

What has become of the oak that stood 
King of his kind in his native wood ? 
Aged and weary I saw him go 
Seeking a home where the four winds blow 
Never a hurricane, blast, or gale; 
Never a sorrow, nor woe, nor wail; — 
Led by the music the breezes played, 
Into the snare that the soft wind laid. 

Far from the wood of his youth and prime; 
Far from his throne in his native clime; 
Led by. the breeze that the soft wind blew. 
Into a wood that was strange and new; 
There midst the proud lofty pines he stood. 
Thinking alone of his native wood. — 
There the old oak which the storms had tried, 
Aged and worn, soon withered and died. 



12 



Part II 
Out of the city a soft wind blew, 
Breathing a story more strange than true; 
TeUing of homes that were builded there. 
Clustered about with a beauty rare; 
Where there was honor and wealth and art; 
Where there was gladness in every heart. — 
Such was the music the breezes played; 
Such was the snare that the soft wind laid. 

Yonder, a king of the fertile soil. 
Aged and weary with years of toil. 
Heard the sweet story so strange and new, 
Fall from the wings of the wind that blew. 
Sweeter to him than the song of birds. 
Seemed the melodious play of words. — 
Soon he was led by the breeze which played, 
Into the snare that the soft wind laid. 

Year after year he had proudly stood. 
Firm as the oak in his native wood; 
Planting and tending the faithful soil. 
Reaping abundantly for his toil; 
Patiently caring for all his own, — 
Fearing no storm that had ever blown. — 
Here the great life which the storms had spent, 
Yields to the breezes of discontent. 

What has become of the man who stood 
Honored by all from the field and wood? 
Aged and weary I saw him go, 
13 



Out from the home he had cherished so; 
Out from the scenes of an early day, 
Into the city so rich and gay, — 
Whither had come the soft wind that blew 
Breathing the story so strange and new. 

Wandering now through the streets so fair. 
Seeking to find him a solace there, — 
Day after day I have seen him go, — 
Ag^d and weary and bending low; 
Finding no breeze like the one which blew 
Softly the story more strange than true. — 
Here the aged farmer sat down and wept. 
Bearing the storm of remorse that swept. 

Back went his thoughts to the dear old home; 
Back to the fields where he used to roam; 
Back to the place of his prime and pride, — 
Where he had taken his fair young bride; 
Back where his children had loved to play; 
Back to the fragrance of new mown hay; 
Back to the click of the old wind-mill; — 
Backward, his memory wandered still. 

Back to the hills and the grazing herds; 
Back to the song of a thousand birds; 
Back to the perfume of fresh plowed earth; 
Back to his laughter and glee and mirth; 
Back to the orchard of fragrant bloom; 
Back to a life which had less of gloom; 
14 



Back where the waters of freedom flow; — 
Back from the city, he yearned to go. 

Far from the home of his youth and prime; 
Far from his throne in his native cHme; 
Led by the breeze that the soft wind blew, 
Into the city so strange and new; — 
There midst the beauty and wealth he stood, 
Thinking alone of his native wood. — 
There the great king which the storms had tried, 
Ag6d and worn, soon withered and died. 



15 



I SLEPT,— I WOKE 

I slept, — 

And dreamed that life was only beauty. 

I woke, — 

And found it freighted down with duty. — 

A failure, or success, — 

As I may make it; 
Mine only till the Master please to take it. 



16 



TO MY LOVES 

A vacant, useless thing would be my life 

Without you, Loves; 
You number four, — three little girls, — my wife; 

All pure as doves. 

When I'm away I know you think of me. 

And wish me well; 
And how I long your faces oft' to see. 

No one can tell. 

I think of you, dear wife, whose mother love 

With pains unspared, — 
Is caring for our babes, sent from above; — 

Love uncompared. 

I think oft' times of you, my babies three; 

How dear you are: 
It makes me sad to have you far from me; — 

Slow drags the hour. 

When I'm away, this burden I must bear, — 

Tho' very hard; 
I trust you only in the Father's care; 

He'll safely guard. 

Remember this, my Loves, my true loves fair, 

Tho' when apart, 
I'm with you even most, — no matter where; — 

You have my heart. 
17 



THE WOODS AT MID-DAY 

Nay, friend, I am not ill; 
But let me rest beneath this tree 
Where all is cool and still; — 
Where nature is convened with me. 
To while the hours at will. 

The fish within this brook, 

Which runs a quiet stream below. 

Seem each to seek that nook 

Of shadows, where the cat-tails grow,- 

Safe from the fisher's hook. 

There at the water's edge 
Creeps silently the sluggard snail; 
And on that limestone ledge, 
In hiding, sits the hunted quail; — 
Nor hunted for its fledge. 

A turtle seeks that log 

Half in the stream, and half ashore. 

And suns himself; A frog 

Thrills out his own peculiar lore. 

From that unsightly bog. 

The black-ant finds his way 
To yonder walnut stump, and there 
Thrives well in its decay; 
And on the trunk which fell, a pair 
Of timber squirrels play. 
18 



A humming-bird flits by 

To yonder bloom, and sips its sweet; 

A cotton-tail leaps high 

And fast, and makes a quick retreat 

From yon stray spaniel's eye. 

In clear, shrill, rasping key, 
Incessantly a locust plays 
From this bough over me; 
And rain-crows prophesy the days, 
From yonder chestnut tree. 

A turtle-dove's low tune 

Floats on the silent mid-day air, 

And dies away too soon; 

While song birds hide, or here, or there. 

Safe from the heated noon. 



On yonder dead oak tree. 

An owl sleeps off the daylight hours; 

And here, a bumble-bee 

Sips honey from the timber flowers, 

And hums a tune to me. 

And here midst these I lie. 
And list' to nature while I rest, — 
Nor count the hours pass by; — 
Still pond'ring which is greater blest, 
These I have met, or I. 
19 



These live awhile, and well; 
But death shall be their final end; — 
Nor heaven beyond, nor hell. — 
What they may feel, or understand. 
Nor you, nor I, can tell. 

So nature goes her way, 

And I live on long after these, — 

Tho' I shall die as they; — 

For death is but that change which frees 

My spirit from this clay. 



20 



WHEN BABY PAT-A-CAKES 

No matter what my feelings are, 

When I come home at night; 
Tho' business may have worried me, 

Or profits have been light; 
I soon forget my troubles all, 

And bothersome mistakes; 
When Mamma takes the baby up, — 

And baby pat-a-cakes. 

No matter what I have on hand. 

Or how for time I'm pressed; 
Tho' work is daily piling up, 

Till there's no time for rest; 
I always find it does me good. 

And worth the time it takes. 
To watch the happy little face, 

When baby pat-a-cakes. 

Some times she cries, as babies do. 

And tears flow down her face; 
Some times she's ill, and then there falls 

A sadness 'round the place. — 
But everybody brightens up, — 

When through the sadness breaks 
The news from Mamma, — "Baby's well! 

For now she pat-a-cakes." 



21 



SELF-CRITICISM 

Tho' simple things sometimes amuse us; 
And graver things sometimes confuse us; 
Let us be careful lest we lose us 

In Egotism. 
'Tis this will better entertain us; 
And help ourselves to best explain us, — 
As w^ell as so much better train us; — 

Self- Criticism. 



m 



BACK WHERE THE SORGHUM GREW 

When we were boys, out on the farm, 

A long, long time ago; 
We had some jolly times back where 

The sorghum used to grow. 

When every other nook we knew. 
Was hot with summer's sun; 

The dear old "cane patch" didn't know 
That summer had begun. 

Oft' times, beneath the rustling blades. 
Where played each passing breeze; 

We lounged about on Purslane beds. 
In perfect boyhood ease. 

What cared we for the scortching sun. 
Or swelt'ring winds that blew? 

For all was cheerful, cool, and fresh, — 
Back where the sorghum grew. 

Oft' in the loose earth shaded there, 
We cooled our sunburned feet; 

And with our jack-knives peeled the cane, 
And sipped its nectar sweet. 

We knew that with the autumn days. 
The stripping time drew nigh; 

When busy stripping-swords would lay 
Our dear old cane patch by. 
£3 



We looked beyond with boyish grief, — 
Surpassing common pain, — 

To that day coming, ah! too soon! 
When we must cut the cane. 

O happy thought that brings reKef, 

And every sorrow breaks; 
Soon with our cane-patch "liquidized", 

We'd spread our buck-wheat cakes. 



24 



A LITTLE GIRL'S COMPLAINT 

I'm just a little girl, you see; 
But I'm as good as I can be; 
Mamma says I'm not as good 
As I could be if I would. 

And I heard my Mamma say 
To my Papa, just today, — 
That I doesn't mind her well; — 
And I think it's bad to tell 
'Bout the naughty things I do 
When my Papa comes ; don't you ? 

I can't always be so good, — 
Else, you know, I surely would; 
'Cause some times I isn't well; — 
'Nen some times I just can't tell 
Why I have been doing so, — 
Only 'less I doesn't know 
How to keep the bad away. — 

Maybe so I'll know some day. 
When I'm big as you, — and you — , 
'Cause I'll watch how big folks do. — 
So you big folks better be 
Pretty good, or you'll spoil me. 



25 



FROM WHENCE IS POETRY? 

(to prof. l. e. r.) 

This is the one thing I have sought; 
That born in me might be a thought 
That I might fashion into rhyme; — 
In verse immortal and subhme. 

I've studied stars, and clouds, and flowers: 
And nature's landscapes, by the hours; 
I've braved the billows of the deep, 
And into future dared to peep. 
I've gazed into the summer sky 
And watched the birds and insects fly; 
I've sat and watched the busy bees, 
And strode among the forest trees; 
In great amazement I have stood, 
And gleaned the little that I could, 
From some of nature's scenery; 
From art, and vast machinery; — 
I've studied ancient history; — 
And found in each, a mystery. 

Tho' all of these surrounding me 
Were full of mighty poetry, — 
And played in glorious pantomime. 
My pen refused immortal rhyme. 



26 



I asked the language of the seas 
To tell the secret of all these; 
Aladdin's lamp to give me light, 
Revealing all, — and let me write. 

I waited, — but all these had fled. — 
Then came an unknown voice and said, 
"Hold! Thine is but a selfish aim; 
Thou seekest an immortal name. — 
If thou wouldst write to live for aye. 
Write only while the muses play; 
Wait until heaven speaks to thee, — 
Then write, — and this is poetry." 



27 



TWO GIRLS 

Some years ago, a girl, quite fair; 
With smiles, blue eyes, and auburn hair; 
And with intelligence a share, — 

I thought I knew. 
To meet her, one would surely say, 
Would be to love her winning way. — 
Alas! I found myself astray. 

She was not true. 

Another, — with a kindly face; 

With rare intelligence, and grace; 

If beauty lacked, love took its place. — 

This girl I know. 
Her eyes are gentle, tho' not blue; 
Her heart is honest through and through; 
To know her is to find her true. — 

She's married though. 



28 



THE BIRD AND HIS SONG 

Chirp-e-chirp, twittle-dee, twittle, dee-dee; 
Came the sweet song from a great forest tree; 

And a wee feathered thing 

Made the whole forest ring, 
While he seemed to be singing to me. 

Cheer-e-chirp, twittle-dee, twittle, wee-dee; 

Still came the song from the loftiest tree; 
And I lifted my eyes 
Toward the clear summer skies, 

Which were spread o'er the singer and me. 

Contented he perched, while the hours passed by, 
Flitting like moments, 'neath heaven's blue sky; 

Till the shadows below 

Bid my fair singer go. 
For the darkness was hovering nigh. 

Unlike the words of a ferventless prayer, — 
Leaving the lips but to waste in mid-air, — 

Was the song that I heard 

From the innocent bird. 
As he rang out the melody there. 

Sweet was the music, as each warbling tone, 
Leaped from his throat toward the heavenly throne; 

And his beautiful lay 

Bore my thoughts far away. 
To the realms of a future unknown. 
29 



O for such purity! O could I be 
Perfect, immaculate, sinless as he; 

Nor a moment's despair; 

Nor a foe anywhere; 
Like the bird which sang sweetly to me. 



30 



PROVERB 

Who mourns indeed 
Need don no outward garb; 
And he who fain would mourn 
Can scarce deceive with emblems. 



81 



MY RED TOP BOOTS 

One time, when I wuz jist a boy. 

My Pa he went to town; 
An' 'fore he went he sez to me, — 

My son go look aroun' 
An' fin' a stick, about-so-long, 

So's I kin get the size 
Uv red top boots to get fer you, — 

You'd ought to seen my eyes. 

Sometimes when Pa he said to me, 

"My son, go get a stick", — 
I kind uv poked along jist slow. 

An' didn't go so quick 
As I did this time; — well, — 'cause why. 

The way he said "my son", — 
Wuz kind uv dif r'nt, an' I know'd 

That there'd be somethin' done. 

This time he looked so kind uv pleased. 

An' smilin' like, you know; 
An' when he spoke 'bout red top boots, 

My hands they jiggled so 
That when I fin'l'y found a stick, 

I let the plagu'd thing fall 
So many times, that Pa he said, 

"You aint no 'count at all". 

But say! when Pa got gone to town, — 
It's so too, when I say 
32 



There aint no year that's half as long 

To me, as jist that day. 
I kep' a lookin' down the road, 

An' ever' chance I'd get, 
I'd say to Ma, "Aint Pa 'bout home?" 

An' she'd say, "No, not yet". 

When she said Pa would not be home 

Till it wuz plum' up night, 
I couldn't have a bit more fun, 

'Cause nothin' turned out right. 
So I jist set out by the road 

A watchin' fer my Pa; 
An' no one went a-past that day, 

I'll bet, but what I saw. 

But Ma she made me come inside 

Wlien it wuz gittin' dark; 
An' nen she sez, "When Pa comes home 

You'll hear ole Bruno bark;" 
But Bruno had a barkin' spell. 

An' kep' me all stirred up; 
He never howled so much before, 

Since he wuz jist a pup. 

But d'reckly I heard Pa say, "Whoa"; 

An' nen I heard the gate 
A swingin' 'round agin' the fence, — 

An' I jist couldn't wait 
Till Pa'd come in with them new boots, — 

An' so I's up an' gone, 
33 



An' gits them boots, an' 'fore Pa's in, 
I've got 'em both pulled on. 

When Pa come in he felt aroun' 

To see if they fit right; 
'Nen kind uv shook his head, jist so, — 

An' sez, "I'm feared they's tight." 
'Nen I sez, "Nope, they's jist the fit; 

See Pa.^ — they's plenty loose"; — 
But when I looked at Pa I know'd 

That talkin' wa'n't no use. 

When Pa said, "Now be careful son. 

Don't stan' 'em on the floor. 
Because I've got to take 'em back 

An' trade 'em fer some more", — 
I know I never felt so bad 

From then till plum' up now, — 
An' I don't b'lieve I slep' a bit 

That whole night, anyhow. 

So Pa he struck right off next day 

An' got a nuther pair; 
An' they's so big they never touched 

My feet at all, nowhere; 
But they wuz dandies, — copper toed — 

iA\ tops, my! they wuz red; 
An' I jist kep' 'em on that night 

An wore 'em off to bed. 



34 



If red top boots were being made 

The same as they were then; 
I wouldn't mind it, for a while, 

To be a boy again. — 
But that is past, — and of my own, 

I have three little "scoots"; 
But they can never know the joy 

Of wearing red top boots. 



35 



ON FINDING A HALF-FILLED FLASK 

Ah, ha! Thou damnable friend! 
Thou friend that warmest man 

In bleakest weather ; 
Thou friend that mak'st him cool 
'Neath summer's fiery sun, — 

Let's speak together; 
And for thyself tell me the end 
Of havoc thou'st begun. — 

Who left thee lying here, — 

And where thy other half ? 

True, thou art innocent, and so shall be, — 
For I will start thee journeying to the sea. 
But what, pray tell me, of that part 
Of thee which has gone out. 
And down some wretche's gullet ran? 
Ah! well thou mightest sneer 
Who makest man a fool; — 
And the imps of hell may laugh 
And taunt with thee, or shout; 

But where, thou murderer! where. 
Thou agent from the depths of hell! 
Is he who drank of thee? 

Behold! What lieth there? 

That mangled corpse ! Canst tell ? 
Tell me, and by what right 
Thou'st wrought this tragedy? 



How came this lifeless form, — 

This severed head ? 
This human flesh, to this steel rail 

Crushed by the iron wheel ? 
And lodged upon this nail. 
And bleeding yet, this lacerated heart? 

Look now upon this dead 

Here lying, still and cold; 
Hast thou no sympathy? No fear? 

Ah! Wilt thou still be bold 
And call thy self a friend ? 

No friend thou art, — thou knowest well,- 
Tho' friendship is thy role. 

I'll break the crystal shell 

That holds thee in, and send 

Thee to the lowest hell; 
As thou hast sent this soul 

To his sad end; — 
And would thou mightest feel 
The same, sad, cruel plight 

As he who drank of thee. 



37 



TRUE LOVE 

Here is True Love; 
And since his birth, has past 

Succeeding centuries. 
His Hfe, — though time shall last 
Four score eternities, 
Is only then begun; 
For God and Love is One: — 
Yea, God is Love. 



AUTUMN 

Leaves are falling; flowers dying; 

Beauty fading day by day; 
And the chilling winds come sighing, 

Driving summer's sun away. 

Cruel frost has touched the roses, 
And they stand with drooping heads; 

At their feet their bloom reposes 
In their autumn foliage beds. 

Naught is left of summer's beauty. 
Nor the perfume of the rose; 

Mother Earth has done her duty. 
And again she seeks repose. 

Wait in sweet anticipation, 

Through the quiet winter hours; 

Soon again the whole creation 
Will burst out anew with flowers. 



WHAT'S YOUR HURRY 

Better stop and think awhile; 

What's your hurry? 
Take a Httle time to smile; 

Quit your worry. 
Stop and gather up the waste 
Scattered thither by your haste; 

What's your hurry? 

Take a little quiet rest; 

What's your hurry ? 
If you've done your very best 

Quit your worry. 
Father time goes every where, 
Giving every one a share; 

What's your hurry ? 

Clear the path before your feet; 

What's your hurry? 
Pass the bitter, drink the sweet; 

Quit your worry. 
What you cannot do today 
Let tomorrow clear away; 

What's your hurry? 

Take the time to do it right; 

What's your hurry? 
Who can change the moment's flight? 

Quit your worry. 



40 



Make the work you have begun, 

Worthy of the seal "well done"; 

What's your hurry ? 

Stop and sing a cheerful song; 

What's your hurry? 
Help the old world move along; 

Quit your worry. 
Stop and cheer the beggar up; 
Help to fill his empty cup; 

What's your hurry? 

Keep a steady going pace; 

What's your hurry ? 
Drive the wrinkles from your face; 

Quit your worry. 
Be your master, — not your slave; 
What's your hurry to the grave? 

What's your hurry? 

Take a little time for prayer; 

What's your hurry ? 
Free yourself from useless care; 

Quit your worry. 
You can only claim today; 
Of tomorrow, — who can say? 

What's your hurry? 



41 



COUNT YOUR BLESSIN'S 

Soon de winter time am comin', 
When we has to shiver 'round; 

When de fros' am on de winders. 
An' de snow am on de ground. 

When de norf win' sorter whistles, 

As we goes to bed at night; 
An' de cracks in dis ole cabin 

Can be foun' widout de light. 

When de ole man's got to hustle, 
Fo' to make de two ends meet; 

Keepin' sticks aroun' de fiah place, 
An' some corn bread fo' to eat. 

But de thing what' makes me heart ache. 
Is to see dat wife o' mine, — 

An' de chillens, almos' barefoot, — 
'Proachin' to de winter time. 

When I thinks how some folks chillen, — 

Dey has got so many clo'es; 
An' dey's warm, an' feelin' happy. 

An' don' care how much it snows; 

Den's de time I is a sinner, 
An' I thinks de way am hard 

Fo' de ole folks which am al'ays 

Been a trustin' in de Lord. 

42 



Den I gits de fambly bible, 
An' de chillen, wife an' me, 

Sets up close aroun' de fiahplace, — 
In de light, so's we can see; 

An' we reads bow worldly riches, 
Dey don' count fo' much no way; 

Den we thinks about de blessin's 
Dat am ours ebery day. 

An' we thinks how God has kep' us, 
Fo' dese many happy years; 

Neber blowin' ob de trumpets 
Ob death angels in our ears. 

When we looks around about us 
At de chillen on de floor. 

Den we sez dat we will neber 
Grumble at de Lord no more. 

Den we close de good ole bible. 
An' kneels down beside de chairs: 

An' we thanks de Lord in heabin', — 
In de sayin' ob our prayers, — 

Fo' de very many blessin's 
Dat He gibs us eb'ry day; 

An' we knows de Lord am lis'nin' 
To de sinner when he pray. 



43 



Den we thanks Him fo' de chillen; 

Fo' de cabin an' de fiah; 
An' we waits to see dat mansion, 

Dat's prepared fo' us up highah. 



44 



LIFE 

Some days the clouds fly scattered; 

Some days they fly enmasse; 
Some days our hopes are shattered, 

And wither like the grass. 

Some days are bright and cheerful; 

Some are with darkness clad; 
Some days but make us fearful, 

While others make us glad. 

Some days our smiling faces 
Spread sunshine everywhere ; 

Some days we wear marked traces 
Of sorrow and despair. 

So short is life's glad morning, — 
E'en then, we feel the breath 

Of One who brings us warning 
Of near approaching death. 



45 



DEATH 

Come near me friend! 

What is this feehng, 
That from my finger tips 

Comes steaHng? 
And what this hght 

EncircHng me? 
A picture of Eternity? 

Alas, my breath! 
I hear a sound, as waters swelHng; 
The rapturous joy of heav'n foreteUing. 
The hght is gone; — I cannot see; 
I hear the Master caUing me. — 

'Tis death, — 'tis death. 



46 



FALSE ACCUSATION 

False Accusation ? Ah ! I know it well ; 

For I have felt its sting, — a cruel pain; — 

I can but look upon it with disdain, — 

For I was tossed by it, much as a shell 

When tossed by waves that cared not where 

it fell. 
I should no hatred bear, nor yet complain 
Of him who uttered it; tho' had he lain 
Me far beneath the lowest, blackest, hell, — 
He would not then have done me greater wrong, 
Than when he said of me, "he is untrue". 

'Tis his to give me back full happiness; 
Yea, and dispel the gloom, the sore distress, 
Which has my soul been torturing so long, — 
If he would but relent; — if he but knew. 



47 



PROVERB 

When silence meets the requirement, 
Speaking is a bad investment. 



48 



A MOTHER'S TOKEN 

Near my dying mother's bed-side; — 

I shall ne'er forget the place, — 
I was kneeling down beside her, 

Looking into her sweet face; 
Soon her eyes would close forever; 

Soon her voice would silent be; — 
Bending low, I heard her whisper, — 

And she faintly said to me: 

*Child, I hear the Master calling, 

Calling me to hasten home; 
I've a token I would leave you. 

Just to guide you as you roam; 
'Tis my little worn-out bible, 

Which has led me safely on; 
May it guide your steps to meet me 

In the home which lies beyond." 

How these words did make my heart ache; 

How the burning tears did flow; 
How I prayed she might not leave me, 

None but God alone can know. — 
But I took the little token 

From her weak and trembling hand; 
And I trust that it will lead me 

To that brighter, better land. 



49 



THE DAWN 

The dawn's promethean Hght! 
Its tinted rays wake slumbering earth, — 
Fast driving back the shades of night. 

Ah! he who Ungers long at rest, 
And knoweth not that bouyant, healthful 

breeze, 
Which floats so peacefully at morn, nor sees 
The sun rise from its restless berth, — 
Lives life but half, — nor lives the best. 

Yea, happiness doth ride 
The downy, noiseless wings of morn; 
And health, and wealth doth glide 
So quickly on, nor wait for slumber. — 

Be up! Awake! And ope' thine eye! 

And view the morning azure sky; 
Let comely thoughts, like stars, adorn 
The sluggish mind, in countless number. 



50 



JUST A WHILE 

The earth is ours to Hve in, — 

For a while; 
Then heaven, we trust, will greet us 
With a smile. 



51 



IN HONOR OF OLD M. C. 

Chide not, nor scorn our tears; 

We weep not as a child 

Who weeps awhile, then hears 

A gentle voice, and smiles. 

We weep for that which fifty years 
Has stood to light the way 
For those who sought her aid. — 

Our dear old Monmouth College 
Burned today. 

The maddened flames 
Have left a crumbling wall 
Where stood, but yesterday, 
The proud old College Hall 
Of half a century. 

Familiar scenes 
May yield to cruel fate, — 
And fall a ruined mass; 
But there still lingers 
That which ne'er will fade 
From love's sweet memory. 

And shall we let her die ? 

We who live better lives 

Because she lived before? 

Nay, nay! — Live on, as in the years 

gone by; 
Live on! Live on! — for hundreds more. 
52 



FALSE SECURITY 

(amos vi) 

Woe unto them that areat ease 

In Zion's holy mount; 
That do their consciences appease, 

By things of no account. 

Woe unto them that put afar 

The coming evil day; 
That stretched upon their couches are; 

On beds of ivory lay. 

That eat the lambs from out the flock; 

The calves from out the stall; 
True godliness they only mock; 

Turn sweetness into gall. 

That drink the richness of the earth, 
And trust in things not sure; 

That spend their lives in glee and mirth. 
But care not for the poor. 

These, therefore, all shall captive go 

With those that captive are; 
Their banquets God will overthrow. 

And shall remove afar. 



53 



PROVERB 

Who from his youth 
Has stood, nor fell; 
And speaks the truth. 
Nor lies, — lives well. 

Who liveth thus, — 
His life is blest; 
Who dieth thus, — 
He dieth best. 



54 



MY POT OF GOLD 

I had a dream which serves me well to know. — 
'Twas but a dream, and it is better so. 
I dreamed I held a pot of shining gold, 
And at my touch it grew an hundred fold. 
I said, no further toil for me, and smiled; 
I said, I'll live as care-free as a child: 
No more shall I have fear of poverty; 
The future I shall live in luxury. 

Thus I began to lay my plans anew; 
And as I loved my pot of gold, I grew 
To know no other god, save only wealth. — 
And reputation, honor, virtue, health. 
All sank beneath its weight, as valueless 
To me as filthy rags; and righteousness, 
Good character, and sympathizing grace. 
Were driven out, and held in me no place. 

I wrapt myself about in costly dress. 

And closed my worldly eyes against distress, — 

Such as would make me weep in days gone past 

When I myself was poor; nor would I cast 

A sympathizing glance where Poverty, 

With out-stretched hands, asked alms of Charity. 

The loved ones, who, of old, I would not slight, — 
My pot of gold now buried from my sight; 
And scenes of pity which once moved my hear 
And caused a sympathizing tear to start, 
55 



Now brought no tear to dim my greedy eye, — 
But, dreaming of my gold, I hastened by 
To seek sweet rest upon my costly bed, 
And there on downy pillows rest my head, — 
Forgetting that I once was greater blest 
Than now, with all the gold that I possessed. 

As years in childhood, more like ages seem; 
So moments are like decades, in a dream; 
And swiftly borne through years on vision's 

wave, 
I now stood tot'ring near an old man's grave, — 
Where Death made known his claim on me; 
And in my dream I saw Eternity. 

My gold! my gold! In mighty fear, I cried. 
In this, my dying hour, leave not my side; 
In vain I tried to lift it to the skies; — 
Alas! It bore me down; — I could not rise. 

Then in my struggle I av.oke to know 
'Twas but a dream, — and it is better so. 



56 



THE DAYS IT RAINS 

I have oft' times sat a dreaming, 

On a quiet rainy day; 
Half awake and half a sleeping. 

While sweet visions 'round me play; 
Watching rain drops chase each other 

Downward on the window panes; 
And have dreamt the things we dream of 

On the quiet days it rains. 

Scenes which long have been forgotten; 

Friends we once held very dear; 
Voices long ago made silent; — 

All of these seem very near; — 
For the little rain drop's prattle, 

Soft against the window panes, 
Gently calls them back to mem'ry, — 

On the quiet days it rains. 

There's a feeling that comes o'er us. 

On the quiet rainy days, 
As if clouds were being lifted 

From our dormant memories; 
Tho' the clouds have veiled the sunlight. 

Still a greater light remains, 
Which reflects upon a picture 

Only seen the days it rains. 



57 



OUR BABY 

What came to add more joy to home; 
To make complete, domestic throne; 
To add some grief and anxious care, 
And claim of love a goodly share ? 
Our baby. 

Who made her papa walk the floor, 
And makes him buy things by the score, 
And keeps him from his daily paper. 
To entertain her with some caper? 
Our baby. 

Who pulls her mamma's work away, 
A dozen times, or more, a day, 
And does so many little things 
That makes her mamma wish for wings? 
Our baby. 

Who fills her papa's shoes with toys, 
And on his laundered shirt employs 
Her little fingers, until it 
To wear again is never fit ? 
Our baby. 

Who, when her papa sits to play 
The organ, at the close of day. 
Will cry to sit upon his knees 
To run her fingers o'er the keys? 
Our baby. 
'58 



Who visits grandma's sugar box, — 
Then runs her fingers through her locks. 
And then with grandma has a fuss 
When she attempts to clear the muss ? 
Our baby. 

Who, when 'tis time to go to bed. 
Would rather play about instead. 
And then behind the door will run. 
To keep from putting "nightie" on? 
Our baby. 

But, — best of all the blessings yet. 
Is our dear babe, our little "Pet"; 
She's even good when she is bad; 
She's even happy when she's sad; — 
Our baby. 



59 



FROM CRADLE TO GRAVE 

A baby, just a while, — not long; 
Then childhood seems a never ending age; 
Then follows youth, with life's love song; 
And then, ere long, we reach the stage 
Where quickly turns, page after page, 

The story of a life He gave. 
Who soon shall take it. Then the grave. 



60 



TO A SISTER 

Sister dear, there is no distance, — 
Tho' it reach from pole to pole, — 

Which extends beyond the vision 
Of a loving brother's soul. 

Nor the rumbling of the thunder. 
Nor the turmoil of the sea, — 

Great enough to drown a whisper 
That thy soul may speak to me. 

Now I see a smile come creeping; 

Now a tear upon thy cheek; 
Now a song I hear thee singing; 

Now methinks I hear thee speak. 

Tho' the months and years speed onward 

Into past eternity, — 
Leaving multitudes of changes, — 

Thou art sister still to me. 

May you read my love, dear sister, 
In these lines which I have penned; 

And may He who rules above us. 
Care for thee until the end. 



61 



ON FINDING A COIN 

Why lay here humbled so, 
Thou loved and honored thing? 

I'll stoop and lift thee up. — 
Perchance some child has dropt thee here, — 
And now in bitter disappointment weeps, 

For some anticipated joy 

Denied her by thy truancy. 

Thou'rt small, — so very small, — 

Yet thou'rt a mighty king. 
In every nation thou art praised, — 

And this whole earth thy kingdom. 
Thou turn'st the wheels of commerce, — 

And thou hold'st the reins 

That lead and rule society. 

Great rulers bow and court thy favor; 
Integrity and truth, — yea even virtue, — 

Yield their all to thee. — 
And innocence gives way to crime 

And scatters broadcast 

Death and bitter grief. 
To satisfy a love for such as thou. 

Thy name is given place in holy writ, — 
But cautious words in thy defense 
Doth wisdom speak. — 
And poets dare to sing of thee. — 
But sing for sweeter recompense. 
62 



Yet with thy evil, thou art good indeed, — 

And servest well in charity. — 

And thou deserv'st a crown 
For what thou'st wrought in heathendom, 

And for thy noble deeds 
Where thou hast soothed the suffering. 
Thou'rt indispensable to all mankind, — 

And yet thou'rt luxury. 

Alas ! With all thy greatness and thy good, 
Thou'rt barred at heaven's gate; 

When thou hast finished here, 
Thou'rt done. — 

— 'Tis thy extremity. 



63 



GOOD CHARACTER 

As silent as the softest breeze e'er blown, 

And yet as mighty as a river's flow, — 

Is that within the man which sends a glow 

From out the heart, where, as it were its throne, 

It sits a king, to rule that life alone. 

'Tis as a kingdom none can overthrow; 

And when by sland'ring tongue it is brought 

low, — 
Will, as the grass, when after it is mown. 
And is revived by morn's refreshing dew, — 
Spring up again; and by that part which fell 
Is made more fertile, and with strength anew, 
Grows onward, upward, until none can tell 
It was cut down. Thus constantly and true. 
It ruleth man till death, — and all is well. 



64 



THE FELLERS COMIN' 

Now listen, fellers, jest a bit, 

An' hear what I'm a savin'; 
An' quit your poutin' 'bout your luck, 

Er what your job's a payin'. 
Jest 'cause some feller's got you beat, 

Haint no excuse fer bummin'; — 
Forgit the fellers what's ahead, 

x\n' watch the fellers comin'. 

There haint no use o' whinin' 'round, 

Jest 'cause some feller's slicker; 
An' 'cause you're gainin' mighty slow. 

While he's a gainin' quicker: — 
Don't hate the fellers what's ahead, 

But keep yourself a hummin', — 
An' you kin look back any time 

At fellers still a comin'. 



65 



THE UNEXPRESSED 

And what is this I feel within my soul 
Like hunger which cannot be satisfied? 
Sometimes like ocean waves that leap and roll, 
Sometimes retreating like the quiet tide, 
To be content with its own sphere, and tell 
Of its brief journey on the pebbled shore. 
Or claim, perchance, a truant pearl or shell. 
To deck again, as it had decked before, 
The ocean's bed. So seems my soul to yearn 
To know all life; yea, mount her lofty walls, 
And look beyond; — but here I must return, 
Content with some sweet thought my dream re- 
calls. 

And so it is, I see, but cannot reach 
With this frail mortal mind, the things I feel 
Within my soul that nature seems to teach. 
Nor fails to prove; — the things that so appeal 
To that which is the best in me. — And yet, 
'Tis that we seem to hunger for in vain 
That lifts us from the world, and bids forget 
The grief she holds, and through the which we 

gain, 
Before our time, a glimpse through heaven's 

gate. 
Where He who holds the key to all that is, 
Awaits our rising up, or soon, or late. 
To see all life as but a part of His. 



66 



But now, earth's lowest life is far too deep, 
And wide, and high; — too great for me to know.- 
'Tis like a mountain built too high and steep 
For me to climb; — so I must stand below, — 
And gaze with wond'ring eyes on what I see. 
Enjoy, and feel, — yet cannot understand; 
At that which is a span too high for me; 
A step too far for my outreaching hand. 



67 



WHAT AM I ? 

What charity! 

That one so great and good as God, 

Should mark my destiny; 
Or in a time of trouble 
Should stoop from His high throne 

To comfort me. 

No act of mine 

Can merit mercy at the hand 

Of Him who is divine; — 
Aye, more, — I am unworthy 
Of e'en a passing thought 

From such a mind. 

Aye, what am I, — 

That while I live. He keeps me as 

The apple of His eye; 
Or when in grief deploring. 
He openeth His ear 

Unto my cry ? 

Why should He pour 

My cup of blessing full, or knock 

For entrance at my door. 
Or give His son beloved 
To purge away my sins 

Forevermore ? 



UNCLE BEN'S PHILOSOPHY 

Some people sez, — an' smart folks too; 
Not common folks like me an' you, 
Dat things what happens eb'ry day, 
Ob course would happen any way, — 
An' dat de Lord don' got no say; 

But dis am sure, 

Dat de corn don' grow, 

Ef de win' don' blow 

De rain up. 

Dese sientifick people say, 

Dat things am dis an' t'other way; 

An' when dey sees things dey can't 'splain, 

Dey says dat nature am to blame; 

But good folk's 'pinions aint de same; 

Fo' dis am sure, 

Dat de wheat don' grow, 

Ef de win' don' blow 

De rain up. 

De skeptick folks dey comes along. 
An' sez dar aint no right an' wrong, 
Jes' so's you mind de golden rule. 
An' keeps away f'om Sunday school. — 
I feel like sayin' dey's a fool; 

'Cause dis am sure, 

Dat de grass don' grow, 

Ef de win 'don' blow 

De rain up. 

69 



De Christian folks, dey's got it right,- 
Fo' 'cause de Lord He gib 'em sight; 
Dey sez de man he sow de grain, 
An' den de Lord He send de rain; — 
I think de matter sure am plain. 

Fo' dis am sure, 

Dat nothin' don' grow, 

Ef de w^in' don' blow 

De rain^up. 



70 



THREE LITTLE GIRLS OF MINE 

Three faces so dear, 

From the window peer; 

Six eyes like diamonds shine; 

Three hands hfted high, 

Just to wave good-bye; 

These three httle girls of mine. 

Each dear little miss 

Throws a farewell kiss, — 

And bids me a happy day; 

The kisses I keep 

In my heart, full deep. 

To cheer me along the way. 

With pattering feet 

They scamper to meet, 

And welcome, when I return; — 

And if there's a bliss 

That's sweeter than this, 

'Tis one I have yet to learn. 



71 



MY RUNTY PIG 

Uv course, if it'd been a pig 

'At looked like it'd live, — 
Pa'd never give it to me, 'cause 

Who's know'd their Pa to give 
A pig worth any thing away, 

To any uv his kids, 
No more'n he'd be doin' things 

The moral law forbids ? 

There wuz'nt nothin' 'bout the pig, 

'At any one could see, — 
'At looked the least bit promisin', — 

So Pa give it to me. — 
My brother he jist laffed an' sed 

He would'nt have the thing; 
'Cause he sed it'd jist pull through, 

An' die when it kum Spring. 

But jes' the way that pig 'ud look 

So pleadin' up at me, 
An' try to squeal like other pigs, 

Jes' 'roused my sympathy. 
Its back bowed up, an' tail wuz straight; 

'N both ears frosted off; 
'N when it breathed it kind uv wheezed, 

'N had a hackin' koff. 

Its eyes wuz granulated bad, 
'N hair rubbed off its back; 

72 



x\n' when that pig 'ud try to run, 
Its hin' legs wouldn't track. 

It measured big aroun' the waist, 
'N little 'round the rumps; 

'N slop 'at suited other pigs, 

'Ud give that pig the "thumps". 

This pig wuz born'd 'long in the fall; 

I don't know jes' the date, — 
But I heard Pa a sayin' it 

Wuz born'd a heap too late. — 
'N't seem'd like that pig's ma jes' made 

Arrangements fer but five; 
An' she had mor'n she could do 

To keep six pigs alive. 

The other pigs 'ud gether 'round, — 

Where pigs mos' alius do, 
'N root that runty pig away, 

To wait till they got through; 
But when a pig gits through, you know. 

The leavin's mighty spare; 
So when the runt pig got a chance. 

There wuzn't nothin' there. 

'LI I took charge, 'n't wuz a charge. 

To raise that pesky beast; 
Fer it wuz all run down. Pa said, — 

'N orter be well greest; 
An' 'nen on ever' washin' day. 

When Ma 'ud wash the duds, — 
73 



I'd haf to scrub the greese all off, 
With some uv Ma's soap suds. 

My! how I wisht I hadn't took 

That pig to winter through; 
But I had took it 'fore I know'd 

There'd be so much to do. — 
So I kep' workin' with the thing. 

An' lookin' to its need; 
'N keepin' it well greest an' scrub'd, 

'N give it plenty feed. 

So fin'ly when it 'gin to grow, — 

'N't's eyes got pit'n'er well; 
'N't's tail kummenst to curl up some, 

'Most any one could tell 
'At that there pig wuz go'n to live, — 

An' 'nen I 'most could see 
The things 'at I wuz go'n to buy, 

'Ith what that pig fetched me. 

The first thing wuz a "safety bike", — 

'At jist wuz comin' 'round; 
'Ith rubber wheels blow'd full uv wind, 

'N seat close to the ground; — 
'N 'nen a pair uv roller skates, — 

'N mebby two new suits; — 
'N a new neck tie, 'n a hat, — 

'N 'spenders, an' new boots. 



74 



But when that pig uv mine got fat, 

'N 'bout three hundr'd big; 
My Pa got kind uv inter'st'd 

In that there runty pig. — 
An' when the hog man come along 

My pig wuz lookin' fine; 
So Pa he sold it off 'ith his, — 

An' 'nen it wuzn't mine. 



75 



JUST A LITTLE COTTAGE 

Today, and then it may be never more, — 
I tread where oft' times I have tread before; 
'Tis not a place of note; or made renown 
By any noble title handed down; 
Nor has it for the daily passer-by 
A single feature to attract his eye. — 
And yet, tho' this indeed be true, — I tread 
As one who walks alone amongst the dead. 

I see a humble cottage, — little more; 
With lattice work, and vines about the door. 
Near by, a flower bed, once so neatly kept 
By one upon whose bosom I have slept. 
Oft' have I seen her while the evening hours. 
So happily about this bed of flowers; 
While he, — with honest heart and thoughtful 

mind, — 
Her life's companion, — earnest, careful, kind; — 
Whose manly strength had failed because of 

age,— 
Sat hourly searching through the sacred page. 

Although about the door there still entwines 
The same old fashioned morning glory vines ; — 
And in the self same bed the flowers bloom; 
Still 'round the dear old home there falls a 

gloom. 
And quiet sadness; and I feel a tear 
Flow gently down my face in mem'ry dear, 
76 



But why should I, who am a man, so feel 
This sense of gloomy sadness o'er me steal ? 
And why should this one spot so deeply hide 
All other scenes of this, a world so wide? 

'Tis this that casts such gloom about the place; 
And spreads a look of sadness o'er my face; — 
Those dear to me, who one time dwelt therein, 
Have journeyed on; nor will they come again. 
There is a hillside, but a pace away, — 
Where, side by side, two cruel mounds of clay 
Have hidden from me those whose memory 
Make that old cottage home so dear to me. 



77 



BUT LEAVE A THORN 

Palace, or Cot; what e'er for me! 

Builded, or here, or there; 
Give me a conscience wholly free, — 

But leave me still a care. 

Let there be in my happy hours, 

A bit of time to mourn; 
Let there be in my path of flowers. 

An unexpected thorn. 

Place in my brightest years each one, 
Sometimes a gloomy day, — 

When clouds shall veil the golden sun,- 
Lest I forget to pray. 



78 



TO THE HANGMAN 

Hold! Thou Hangman, hold! 

Nor act until thou'st pondered well. 

What right hast thou 
To throw the trap beneath the feet 
Of this convicted soul, and take 

That which thou can'st not give? 

This man is human, as thou art, — 

Tho' cruel be his deeds; 
And so, as thou, he too was once a child, 
Whose mother, weeping now, once smiled 

Above his downy cradle bed. 

While peacefully he slept. 

Hath he no moral right to live.^ 

His freedom we may take, and may restore, 

But life we can not give; — 
And by no perfect law can take away. 

Touch not the scaffold spring 

Which sends a human soul 
To writhe 'twixt heav'n and earth, 

And gasp for breath. — 
No statutory law can e'er be just 

Which bids the self same crime 

For which he stands condemned. 
His God, and thine, hath giv'n him birth; 

Let this same God appoint his death. 



79 



Let right hold place, and rule; 

What e'er it be; or what demand. — 
Obey thy country's righteous laws, nor fail; 

But here, O Hangman, stay thy hand! 



80 



A FIRE-PLACE DREAM 

(to a. t. w.) 

I sat by an old fashioned fire-place; 

A friend had invited me there; 
He knew not that he was affording 

A pleasure to me, indeed rare. 

I sat in the glare of the fire light, 
Enrapt in its warm atmosphere; 

And, gazing Avith fixed eyes before me, 
Forgot that my good friend was near. 

The world seemed to close in about me, — 
And spellbound I sat in the glare; — 

Ah! would I might paint him a picture. 
Of the vision that I saw there. 

I'd lead him far backward to childhood; 

The cradle; the sweet lullaby; 
The dear watchful mother who sang it; 

And the angels that hovered nigh; 

To the innocent childish playthings; 

To days when his mind had no care;- 
When worn out at eve he sat dreaming, 

Till sleep left him limp in his chair. 

I'd lead him again through the prairies. 
Where sweet scented roses grew wild; 
81 



Yes, and lilies, and wild sweet-williams, — 
Like he plucked when he was a child. 

We would visit the old school playgrounds, 
And romp with old playmates again; 

And we'd dream the sweet dreams of boyhood 
Just the same as we dreamt them then. 

Then on to the years of young manhood; 

The day when we left the old home; 
To the kind warning words then spoken, 

As we ventured the world alone. 

Then we'd hie to the wide spread valleys, 
And up to the mounts capped with snow; 

Then over the wild plains we'd wander; 
Then on, where the dense forests grow. 

We'd view all that earth has provided. 
To cheer the susceptible mind; — 

As pictured to me in the fire-place; — 
Then we'd leave the old world behind. 

We'd hasten then up to the heavens; 

E'en approach to the Throne of Grace; 
We*d walk the gold streets of a city 

Made bright by the light of God's face. 

We'd hear the sweet music of angels; 
And view their rich mantels of gold; 



82 



We'd visit the ancient Sanhedrin, — 
Where counseled the wise men of old. 

Ah! were I an artist well gifted 

From heaven, I scarcely would dare 

To paint for my good friend a picture 
Of the vision that I saw there. 



83 



CAN'T FOOL ST. PETER 

Some folks think that ole Saint Peter, 
Don't know more than some dumb creeter; 
An' that he don't got no schooHn', — 
But they'll haf to quit their foolin'; 
Fo' they can't fool ole St. Peter, 
Worth a cent. 

They jes' leaves their 'ligion soakin', 
When they calls a lie jes' jokin', — 
An' a stealin' jes' a takin'. 
Or a misappropratin' ; 

That won't work wif ole St. Peter, 
Worth a cent. 

'Taint no joke when you's a lyin', — 
An' it aint no use a tryin' 
Fo' to make Saint Peter swaller, — 
'Cause it won't git pas' his collar; — 
No sah, that won't work with Peter, 
Worth a cent. 

We can't git in sight o' glory, 
Wif no sudden made up story; 
'Cause he's got writ down on pages. 
All about us, an' our ages. — 

Needn't think we'll fool Saint Peter, 
Worth a cent. 



84 



MY OLD PLAYMATE 

(to dr. J. A. S.) 

For an hour I've just been thinking 

Of companionships of old; 
Wond'ring, dear old friend and playmate, 

If you know the place you hold; 
If you know my fondest mem'ry, 

And the best, and the most true, 
Of my love for old companions, 

Centers, most of all, in you. 

Fondly do I prize the mem'ry 

Of the days that used to be; 
How my happiness was greater 

When you shared those days with me. 
Vividly the scenes of boyhood 

On my memory still hang; 
And a thousand harps are playing 

The old songs we often sang. 

Tho' a score of years have vanished, 

And our paths have widely spread; 
And your field of labor distant 

From the one to which I'm led; — 
Still the friendship which is cherished — 

Tho' we both have long been men — 
Seems as fresh as in our boyhood. 

And as true as it was then. 



85 



It was not a passing friendship, — 

Dying with the last school day; 
Not a friendship soon forgotten, 

And forever cast away; 
But a friendship that still smoulders, 

Bedded in sweet memory; — 
Waiting only for the moment 

When our meeting sets it free. 



86 



TOO BUSY 

I've played with my sister, 
And cut pictures out; 
And played with my dolly, 
And tossed her about; 
I've looked at the pictures 
In my picture book. 
Till they don't look pretty 
Like they used to look. 
I've bothered my Mamma, 
And my Grandma, too, — 
And they are so busy 
With so much to do, — 
That they keep a saying, 
"Now dear, run away, — 
For we are too busy, — 
Too busy to play." 

Yes, Mamma's too busy, — 
And Grandma is, too; 
And Papa most always 
Has something to do; 
And sister's too little. 
And baby can't walk; 
And dolly can't listen 
To me when I talk; — 
And, tho' I've been tyring,- 
I just can't be good. 
Like every one tells me 
A little girl should; — 
87 



And IVe been unhappy 
Most all of the day, — 
'Cause everyone's busy, 
Too busy to play. 



88 



WHO LIKES A TOAD ? 

A Toad ! Who ever likes a toad ? 
They aint no use 'cept eatin' flies, 
An' alius bein' in the road, 
A bhnkin' an' a lookin' wise. 

Snakes likes 'em tho', — that's what snakes do; 
'Cause jes' the other day I saw 
A snake a eatin' one er two 
Without a cookin' 'em; jes' raw; 
That's what he did,— at jes' one bite. 
An' then you'd ought to seen that snake; 
Fer snakes with toads inside's a sight. — 
I'll bet he had the stumick-ake. 

But that's jes' like a toad, — it is; 
To lay aroun' till it gits et; 
'N taint no body's fault but his. — 
'N yes, an' lots o' times they'll get 
Right in a rut where wheels go at, 
An' jes' as like as not they'll lay 
An' let a wheel jes' smash' em flat, 
'N never move to get away. 

Now that's a toad: — a lazy toad; 
'At aint no use 'cept eatin' flies. 
An 'alius bein' in the road, — 
A bhnkin' an' a lookin' wise. 



89 



An' fellers what likes toads, I say, 
Kin have 'em, — an' kin have 'em all; 
'N eat 'em whole, er iny way, — 
But I don't like no toads a-tall. 



90 



MY KING HAD GONE 

At eight, I deemed my sire a King; 
At twelve, this pride 'gan wavering: 
At sixteen, — dared to claim his crown, 
And bid him lay his scepter down. 

At eighteen years, I claimed his throne. 
And placed his law beneath my own; — 
At twenty, I began to feel 
A shame into my bosom steal. 

At twenty-five, I let me down 

From his high throne, nor kept his crown. 

At thirty years, I gladly heard 

His wise and well considered word. 

At thirty-five I sought the throne 
That once I thought to be my own, — 
In search of him, to lean upon, — 
Alas, too late! my King was gone. 



91 



THE OLD GRINDSTONE 

O goodness, boys, here comes my Pa; 

I wish I wa'n't around; 
I'll bet he's got the ole dull axe, — 

Or somethin' he wants ground. 

Jist seems to me that ever' time 
I'm havin' lots o' fun, — 

That Pa comes 'round a tellin' me 
'Bout somethin' he wants done. 

Now I don't mind a doin' chores, — 
'Cept doin' 'em alone, — 

But I jist b'lieve I'd ruther die. 
Than turn that ole grindstone. 

It aint no fun not even jist 
To grind Ma's parin' knife; 

For Pa bears down till I can't turn 
The crank, to save my life. 

When I git big an' have a farm. 

An' axes, all my own; 
The boy that calls me Pa, I'll bet. 

Won't turn no ole grindstone. 



92 



WHEN I WAS WOOING YOU 

Come up close and sit beside me, 

As you used to do, my dear; 
Come and tell me in a whisper, — 

Just so no one else may hear; 
Tell me, is your heart as tender; 

Is your love for me as true: 
Is your faith in me as steadfast, — 

As when I was wooing you ? 

Have you shared our disappointments 

With a trust that routs all fear; 
Still believing that I love you 

As I used to do, my dear? 
Is there now, perchance, some burdens 

Which my faults have laid on you. 
Being borne in love as trusting, — 

As when I was wooing you ? 

Does my heart seem yet as tender, — 

And my love as true and kind ? 
Or has time and care so changed me, 

Until now you scarce can find 
Still a trace of tender feeling; 

Still a heart remaining true; 
Still a trace of noble manhood, — 

As when I was wooing you ? 



93 



A MORNING SOLILOQUY 

I lay me down, nor know if I shall rise; 
And when in sleep I close my weary eyes, 
What are the doings of the world to me? 
I lie as one in death, unconsciously; — 
Nor know I of a single breath I take, 
Until the morning comes and I awake. 

But this I know; while I had peaceful rest, — 
A countless multitude were not so blest; 
Yea, countless numbers rise no more to see 
The morning light which shines to gladden me. 

What know I of the deeds that have been done,- 
Since yesterday until this morning's sun? 
Kind fate has spared me many a ghastly sight, — 
Where crime and cruel deeds were done last 

night; 
And from the wail of those who sat and wept, 
While I lay stretched upon my couch and slept. 

I would not boast of this, for who can know 
But that, ere this day's sun shall sink below 
The western hills, and earth shall seek her rest, — 
This heart, which now beats fast within my 

breast. 
May beat no more, — and I be left as they 
Whose lives went out last night, or yesterday. 



94 



The future is beyond the finite mind; 
And He who made it so, is just and kind;- 
For he who knows the moment of his death, 
Takes not a peaceful or unconscious breath. 



95 



LIVE AND LET LIVE 

Throw off thy cloak of ease and selfishness, 
O people of America! and cast 
The heavy mist from thy half dormant minds. 
Remove the blinding scum, so tightly set 
Upon thy orbs of light, which by thy God 
Were given thee — nor giv'n to close 'gainst sin. 
And crime, and war; 'gainst boundless, endless 

greed 
For wealth, and wealth alone, — and look beyond ; 
Nor distant far, unless, perchance, the Dove 
Of Peace take pity on an erring race 
And whisper in the ears of those who rule; 
And those who by the ballot have the power 
To turn the tide of fortune, — and quickly 
Thou wilt see, — as one aroused from peaceful 
Sleep by terrifying dreams, — two Monsters; 
One known as Wealth; one Labor; and these two 
Contending, each one for himself the right 
To dictate, govern, and at last control, — 
And wrench from life, that which we hold most 

dear; — 
A blood-bought freedom, — ours, and yet not ours, 
Save as 'twere given us by those who died 
Upon the battle field; whose very bones 
Would turn themselves about in their dark cells, — 
And from the sockets in their skulls would flow 
Hot streams of bitter tears, could they exist 
Unseen among us but for one brief hour. 



96 



Should precious blood be shed in vain? 

Not so. 
Revive, O kindly Spirit, manly hearts; 
Hearts beating not for self alone, but more! 
Hearts beating for their fellowmen. Cast out 
Forevermore, all hatred, and let each 
Rejoice because he does not share alone, 
The honor, wealth, and freedom of God's world. 

Quench quickly, whether thou be rich or poor. 

All jealousy; all greed; and covet not 

Thy brother's wealth, — or filched, — or fairly 

gained ; — 
Be well content with that which is thine own; 
Let peace and meekness rule our country fair: 
Let manhood stoop not to the life of beasts 
Whose very nature is to slay and eat; 
But live and let live, evermore in peace; 
Cease thy contending, save 'gainst sin alone, — 
And save our country and our government. 



97 



EVERY YEAR 

Tho' some days are full of sadness, 

Every year; 
Still there flows a stream of gladness, 
Every year. 
Springtime with its bloom of flowers; 
Nourished by the sun and showers; 
Fills with joy these hearts of ours, — 
Every year. 

Time is leaving careworn traces. 

Every year; 
Changing day by day our faces, — 
Every year. 
Still the stream of life keeps flowing; 
Swiftly on the current going; 
While our God is strength bestowing, — 
Every year. 

There are clouds of sorrow flying. 

Every year. 
There are friends and loved ones dying. 
Every year. 
Many are the griefs we borrow 
From the burdens of tomorrow; — 
Making heavier still our sorrow, — 
Every year. 



98 



O the end is drawing nearer, — 

Every year; 
And the thought of heaven dearer, 
Every year. 
That we soon must leave behind us 
Earthly ties that closely bind us, — 
Time and changing scenes remind us,- 
Every year. 

The Eternal Day draws nigher. 

Every year; 
And its morning star shines higher. 
Every year. 
As we to the cross cling tighter, 
Heavy burdens grow still lighter. 
And the future looks still brighter, — 
Every year. 



99 



THE VOICE WITHIN 

Ah, welcome, Guest! Me thought myself alone; 
And lo! I look, and thou art here! 
Pray linger now, and tell me who thou art; 
From w^hence thou art; and what thy sphere. 

For shame, O man ! and dost thou know me not ? 
And knowest not where I abide? 
I am thy soul's companion, guarding thee; 
Thy Conscience, — ever at thy side. 

Ah, Conscience mine, and do I speak to thee? 
Consentest thou to stoop so low% 
And hold communion here with such as I ? 
How^ camest thou to love me so ? 

But hold! I sink not, but I bear thee up. 
I am of thine own self a part, — 
Abiding always, ever, near to thee; 
My bed, the portals of thine heart. 

And is thy bed inviting? for a truth 
Thou seemest much to slumber there; 
Dost thy vocation keep thee well employed? 
Or hast thou idle time to spare? 

To some I slumber much, and slumb'ring wait 
Until they need admonishing; 
To some I slumber little, lest they fall, 
Alas, while I am slumbering. 
100 



I trouble not the man who walks arioht: 
Within his heart I slumber best. 
But he who falters 'twixt the right and wrong, — 
'Tis in his heart I have no rest. 

But sad it is for him to whom I sleep 
The sleep from which I ne'er awake; 
'Tis he who oft' has cast me out unheard; 
May heaven spare him yet, for mercy's sake. 

But why, O conscience, I would ask of thee, — 
Dost thou not speak ere I begin 
To falter, yield, and then alas, to sink 
Into the miry depths of sin ? 

O, soul of man, I speak,— but thou art deaf! 
So long hast thou pursued thy course, — 
Words oft' unheeded are at last unheard; — 
Naught left for thee but sad remorse. 



101 



MISSISSIPPI 

Mississippi! Mighty stream! 
At thy water's edge I dream; 
Wond'ring at thy mighty length; 
At thy magnitude and strength. 

From the northern lakes, thy source, 
Thou hast followed long thy course; 
Winding through our fertile land 
Spreading wide thy path of sand; 
Choosing out thy varied way 
Where our wide spread valley's lay; 
Passing bluff and timbered hill, — 
Hast'ning onward at thy will. 

At my feet thy ripples play, 
As they hasten on their way; 
Splashing lightly 'gainst the sand, 
On thy shell decked border-land. 

Why so hasten on thy flow 
Toward the mighty gulf below — 
There to mingle with the deep, 
Where the mighty billows leap.^ 
Cease thy flow and bide with me; 
I would hear a tale from thee. 

Thou hast saved the lives of men; 
Yea, and taken them again; 

102 



Thou hast drained the deluged field, 
And hast made the desert yield; 
Thou hast borne the ships of war, 
And hast heard the cannon's roar. 
Many are the warriors brave, 
Buried now beneath thy wave; 
Many are the dead unknown, 
Resting on thy bed of stone; 
Many lives borne down with grief, 
Seek thy billows for relief. 

Tell me. Mighty Stream, O tell. 
Ere I bid thy shore farewell, 
All that thou hast yet in store; 
I will gladly hear thee more. — 
Tell me of the ages past; 
Tell me of the power thou hast: 
Breathe thy secrets here to me, 
To be kept 'twixt me and thee; 
Then, O Waters deep and wide, 
I will let thee onward glide; 
I will leave thy shell decked shore, 
And will ask thee nothing more. 

Tho' thou'rt silent, Mighty Stream, 
And content to let me dream; 
Still thy silence speaks to me 
Of the past and yet to be. — 
These small ripples at my feet 
Breathe a story pure and sweet; 

103 



Yonder waves on mischief bent, 
Tell a tale of discontent. — 
These portray a human life, — 
Here its pleasure, there its strife; 
Here its joy and blessedness; 
There its sorrow and distress; 
Here its every sin forgiven; 
There its banishment from heaven. 

Miche Sepe! true thy name; 
Thou art worthy of thy fame. 
Stream of might and mystery. 
Beauty, power, and majesty! 
I would do the world a wrong 
Asking thee to linger long; — 
Hasten swiftly on, nor dwell; 
Mississippi, fare thee well. 



104 



A SPRING SONG 

O Spring! O gentle, balmy Spring! 

I am thy lover, I confess; 
Because thou art a comely thing, 

And with thee comes such cheerfulness. 

Prolong thy visit, gentle Spring; 

stay until I bid thee go; 

Such is the rapture thou dost bring, — 
And such the gifts thou dost bestow. 

It seems thy mission but to bring 
Rare beauty to the dormant earth; 

And with thee come the birds that sing 
Sweet songs to cheer the universe. 

O Spring, if thou canst not remain, — 

1 pray thee be not long away; 

And when thou comest. Love, again, — 
O may thy visit last for aye. 



105 



THE LADDER IN THE AIR 

If a ladder hung from heaven 
Should be measured sparingly; 
And it were the only passage 
To the blest eternity; 
What a mass of upturned faces, 
Overspread with dark despair, 
Would be peering through the darkness, - 
For the ladder in the air. 

There are rules and facts and figures, 
That are hard to get around; 
There is now, as there was always, 
Sixteen ounces to the pound. 
It behooves us in our dealings 
To comply with these with care, — 
Lest our ladder into heaven 
Be suspended in the air. 

There are four pecks in a bushel; 
Careful now, be on your guard, — 
Four full quarts in every gallon; 
Thrice one foot in every yard. 
'Tis no matter what our business. 
It will pay best to be fair; 
I>est our ladder into heaven 
Be suspended in the air. 

If we deal out to our brother, 
Fifteen ounces for a pound, — 
106 



Then our own suspended ladder 
Will have lost another round. 
And for each sin thus repeated, — 
If repeating we would dare, — 
Round by round our golden ladder 
Will rise higher in the air. 

Would it not be vastly better. 
To give measure shaken down, 
Heaping full, and running over, 
And at last to wear a crown; 
Than to hoard a mass of money 
By the use of means unfair. 
And to grope at last in darkness, 
For the ladder in the air ? 



107 



THE PLAIN OLD CHURCH 

O give me the plain old-fashioned church; 

What ever may be its style; 
With its plain old fashioned membership, — 

And there let me worship awhile. 

No matter to me if the window glass 

Are not of a modern art; 
No matter to me if the aisles are bare, 

If Jesus lives in my heart. 

And what if the building be not of stone; 

But built of the plainest wood; 
If those who enter to worship there, 

Are noble and kind and good? 

And what if no spire points heavenward; 

Or plain be the old time pew; 
And what if the songs they sing are old, — 

If the hearts are pure and true? 

O give me the church where none may sneer 
At the cloak I needs must wear; 

Where social distinction bars the door 
To none who would worship there. 

O give, O give me the plain old church, 
Where fashion does not defile; 

Where homage to God alone is done, — 
And there let me worship awhile. 
108 



A NEIGHBOR 

Who is a neighbor? I am asked; 
To answer this would be no task 
If only you'll remove the mask, 

Which hides the truth. 
He is the man who favors you; 
Your difficulties helps you through, 
And all your tangles helps undo, — 

Since from your youth. 

A neighbor is not always he 
Whose fireside from my own I see; 
Or cottage near my own may be; 

Wait till he's tried. 
Perchance, when I may need him most, 
His strength, of which I've heard him boast, — 
Has fled, as driven by a host; — 

He's left my side. 

He is my neighbor, who when tried, 
Through thick and thin, stays by my side; 
Who'll help me battle with the tide. 

And not take flight. 
Who'll pat me on the back and say. 
Don't get discouraged by the way, — 
The next may be a better day; — 

Keep up the fight. 



109 



He covets not another's gold; 

His birthright he retains unsold; 

His treasures are not those that mould, 

Nor waste with rust. — 
His life is spent for those near by; 
His hopes are hidden in the sky; 
He lives in readiness to die; — 

His life is blest. 



110 



A BABY 

A baby has come to the world today, — 

Away from the angels above; 
Her face seems a picture of innocence, 

In a well fitted frame of Love. 

Her little soft hands, with sin yet unstained, — 
Seem beck'ning to heaven above; 

Sending back to the babes who yet remained ; 
Little handfuls of innocent love. 



Ill 



PROVERB 

It is blessed to be happy; 
More blessed to realize it; 
Most blessed to appreciate it. 



112 



REDEEMED 

Since Adam sinned the years pass on 

In sin and strife; 
And nature seems to take upon 

A baser life; 
The earth that once showed perfectness, 
Becomes as hke a wilderness; 

111 kempt and worn. 

By constant never ending toil, 

We only gain 
Earth's meager comforts, — worthless spoil. 

While we remain. 
But ling'ring, clinging to the earth, 
Is man, — mere object from his birth, — 

Of pity, scorn. 

Nor did the first man fall alone. 

And lose the crown; 
His sinful fall from Eden's throne 

Dragged all men down. 
E'er since the day he sinned and fell, 
Succeeding generations tell 

The story o'er. 

Save for the One who gave his life 

Upon the tree; 
So, as in ages past, the strife 

Would ever be; — 



113 



But from His pierced side there streamed 
His precious blood, which has redeemed 
Forever more. 



114 



BE READY 

If you expect to win a race, 

Be ready; 
Fix well the distance to the goal, 
And enter into it whole-soul; 
Set out to win on honest ground, — 
And at the "starting-bell's" first sound- 
Be ready. 

If at your door Good Fortune knocks, 

Be ready. 
If never in your life before. 
Be ready at the open door; 
Don't wait for some convenient day, 
Lest Fortune turn and speed away; 

Be ready. 



115 



IT MUST BE SUMMER! 

'Guess it must be summer, papa; 
'Cause the things is buzzin' 'round; 
An' there's httle bits uv green things 
Comin' right up fru the ground. 
An' the httlest bits uv apples, — 
No, its jes' there eyes I guess, — 
Peepin' out an' lookin at me 
'Cause I got on my new dress. 

See them httle bits uv birdies 
Flyin' way up in the sky; 
Now they's gone, an' I can't see 'em. 
Cause they's fly'd away so high. — 
'Spect they's glad 'at winter's over, — 
An' the sun's so warm an' sweet; 
'Cause they has'nt any booties 
For their little bits uv feet. 

Wonder what's the reason, papa, 

That the birdies never sing. 

An' keep skippin' 'round so happy, — 

Only jes' when it is Spring? 

I think every thing is nicer 

When there isn't any snow; 

When the birdies keep a singin', 

And the grass an' flowers grow. 

'Cause we never feel so happy 
Playin' in the house all day; 
116 



An' if winter didn't bother 

We could stay out doors an' play. — 

No I don't like winter, papa; 

Wif its cold, an' ice, an' snow; 

x4n' I'se three years old this summer. 

An' I think I ought to know. 



117 



ONE DAY LOST 

The sun has lowered in the west; 
The wand'ring bird has sought her nest; 
No deed of kindness have I done, — 
Nor cheered the heart of anyone; 
'Tis one day lost; 'tis one day lost. 

No nearer to my God today 
Have I advanced, than yesterday; 
No more like His pure life divine, 
Is this unworthy life of mine; 
'Tis one day lost; 'tis one day lost. 

How shall I lay me down to rest 
With this remorse within my breast ? 
For nothing worthy have I done. 
Nor labored at, nor yet begun; 
'Tis one day lost; 'tis one day lost. 

What more of life, then, can I say, — 
Than that 'tis shorter by one day? 
'Tis one day lost forevermore; 
My wasted days count one day more; 
'Tis one day lost; 'tis one day lost. 

Of Thee, O Father, I implore,— 
Should I be spared for one day more, — 
That ere tomorrow's setting sun. 
Some deed for Thee I will have done,- 
For this day lost; for this day lost. 
118 



Forbid, forbid, — I humbly pray, 

That I should waste another day; 

May every day yet left for me, 

Be marked with some deed done for Thee; 

Let none be lost; let none be lost. 



119 



A COMIN' HOME FROM SCHOOL 

A comin' home from school one day, 

I saw the mostest things; 

A runnin' an' a skippin' 'round, — 

An' some uv 'em had wings; 

'N I saw sumpin' hke a ball, 

x\s big as robin eggs, — 

'N a big bug a rollin' it 

Along wif jes' its legs. 

An' nen I saw some little things, — 

Jes' lots an' hundreds, — nen 

They runned aWay down in the ground, 

Nen corned right up again. 

An' nen I saw a hopper-grass — 

I guess that's v/hat its name, — 

An' one its legs was brakted off, 

An' so it hopted lame. 

My Ma told me to watch fer snakes, 

An' not go in the grass; 

An' if I met one on the way, 

To wait an' let it pass. — 

So I wuz mindin' what she said. 

An' keepin' in the road, — 

An' sumpin' jumpt agin my foot, — 

But it wuz jes' a toad; 

An' toads don't bite, — but grandma sez 

They's mean as they can be, 

'Cause they make warts on little boys, — 

But no warts comed on me. 



120 



When I got home my ma she sed, 
"Now, son, where have you been? 
My, you've been bad in time uv school, 
An' teacher's kep you in. 
You mus'n't be a naughty boy 
An' break the teacher's rule."— 
Nen I went tellin' what I saw, 
A comin' home from school. 



121 



CAROUSIN' ROUND AT NIGHT 

I've got no use for drinkin' 

An' carousin' 'round at nights, — 

A gettin' crazy drunk, an' then 
A gettin' into fights. 

A comin' home a staggerin'. 
An' cursin' babes an' wife; 

An' forgetin' how you promised 
To care for them through Hfe. 

It's no way to treat your fam'ly. 

Who are yours to protect; 
You're hke Satan when you do it, — 

'Lowin' him all due respect. 

This drinkin' breaks up lots o' homes. 

An' causes loads o' grief; 
An' fills the jails full to the brim 

With murderer an' thief. 

Makes little children suffer so 
For things they need to eat; 

An' wives take washin's in, an' sew. 
To get 'em bread an' meat. 

No use to go to church an' pray, 
With whisky in your hide; 

That suits the devil better than 
Committin' suicide. 
122 



Quit drinkin' or quit prayin', 
Which ever you think best; 

An' if needin' more instruction. 
Search the Scriptures for the rest. 



123 



AN AWFUL BLUNDER 

Be careful now, Old World! 
Don't get your flatteries unfurled, 
And wave them o'er a fellow's head 
Until you're very sure he's dead. 
It is not good to speak too well 
Of anyone; — his head might swell. 
They say it is an awful crime 
To flatter one, — ahead of time. 
Best wait a week; don't take a chance; 
The fellow might be in a trance: 
And then, if suddenly he woke, 
You'd be so sorry that you spoke; 
And if he'd find out what you said, 
While you were thinking him quite dead, 
He might mistake you for his friend. 
And you'd be forced to make amend. 
Don't go and make a great boo-hoo, 
And act like grief were killing you, 
When really, if the truth were said, 
You're only glad the fellow's dead. 
The best advice I have for you. 
Is simply this: Old World, be true. 



124 



SMILE AWAY THAT FROWN 

When things seem up side down for you. 

And failures take the lead; 
When fate upsets whate'er you do, 

And you can not succeed, — 
Don't hang your head and look forlorn, 

x\nd don the sackcloth gown; 
Far greater burdens have been borne. 

So smile away that frown. 

If fortune seems to pass your door 

And leave you quite neglected; 
Remember that the honest poor 

Will always be respected. 
Brace up, put shoulder to the wheel, — 

A good man ne'er goes down; 
No matter how distressed you feel, 

Just smile away that frown. 

Why be cast down if not endowed 

With what the world calls wealth; 
For you have much if you're allowed 

That bounteous blessing, health; 
The wealth and palaces of earth 

Ne'er placed a lasting crown; — 
Bid sadness go, and welcome mirth; — 

And smile awav that frown. 



U5 



THE GENUINE 

If she's a genuine brunette, 
With laughing eyes, as black as jet; 
And in her way not too much set, — 
She'll suit some man, and don't forget, 

She's just his kind. 
But if she's cranky, mean, and sour; 
A grumbler every day and hour; 
With nose turned upward like a tower; 
To love her, is beyond man's power; — 

She needn't mind. 

Or, if her face be very fair; 

A golden color be her hair; 

With love and kindnesses to spare; 

Some worthy man will take a share, — 

Without a doubt. 
But if she sulks around half mad, 
And looks like she were feeling bad; 
The man who marries her, poor lad, — 
Will some day wish he never had. — 

Just leave man out. 

There's nothing in the flowing hair; 
Nor in complexion, dark or fair, — 
To cause a man to even dare 
To offer of his best a share. 
In wedded life. 



126 



But if she is of temper sweet; 
A pleasing personage to meet; 
A lady, free from vain conceit ;- 
No man will ever know defeat,- 
With such a wife. 



127 



PRACTICAL PROVERB 

Loud, boisterous, demonstrations add about as 
much to the spiritual value of prayer, as the 
stench of a dead carcass adds to the fragrance 
of an autumn breeze. 



128 



DON'T KILL THE BIRDS 

Don't kill the little birds, my boy, 
'Tis wrong their lives to take; 

Do let them live, and life enjoy; 
Do this for mercy's sake. 

Do you not know that they are made 
By Him who gave you breath? 

Do you not know that it is said 
He notes each sparrow's death? 

He made them not for us to kill; 

So let them all go free; 
He made them each a place to fill, 

The same as you and me. 

Don't fling the deadly piercing ball, 
And stop their cheerful song; 

Don't kill the little birds at all; 
'Tis wrong, my boy, 'tis wrong. 



129 



THINGS THAT HADN'T OUGHT TO BE 

There's 'most always things about us 
That looks kind o' sad to me; 

Jes' the little things a hap'nin'. 
That there hadn't ought to be. 

There's a lot o' things we're leavin', — 
As we kind o' hurry through, — 

An' a lot o' things we're doin', 
That we hadn't ought to do. 

Jes' the little things we're seein', 
That we've kind o' got to see, — 

Keeps us feelin' all unhappy, — 
When we hadn't ought to be. 

There's some little things we're hearin',— 
Like as not, — most every day, — 

Like the things that people's sayin', — 
That they hadn't ought to say. 

Yes, its jes' the little hap'nin's. 
That we've kind o' got to see, — 

That keeps lots o' people sorry, — 
When they hadn't ought to be. 

Wish that every body livin', — 

Jes' like me, — an' you, — an' you, — 

Wouldn't do the things we're doin, — 
That we hadn't ought to do. 
130 



Wish that all was right that happens 
An' that all was good we see; 

Wish there wasn't things a bein'. 
That there hadn't ought to be. 



131 



MORE TAFFY AND LESS EPITAPHY 

We live, and move, and have our being; 
We stumble on without much seeing; 
Few praise us for the good we've done, 
Till after we are dead and gone. 
O why, I wonder, is this thus ? 
And why are things in such a muss? 

In life we need more Taffy; 

At death less Epitaphy. 

What good is there, I'd like to ken. 
In saying nice things of you when 
You're dead and laid beneath the ground. 
And can not hear the joyful sound ? 
'Tis much too late to praises sing 
To those who know not any thing. 

In life we need more Taffy; 

At death less Epitaphy. 

If we could only fool the race. 
By hiding in some lonely place, 
And make them think that we are dead. 
Till after these nice things are said; — 
We'd see great eulogies in print, 
That to our face they'd never hint; — 

In life we need more Taffy; 

At death less Epitahpy. 



132 



Why store our eulogies away, 

Just to be used at burial day? 

Let's use them while our loved ones live; 

There's nothing better we can give, — 

If only this we'll not forget, — 

Some day we'll have much less regret. 

In life we need more Taffy; 

At death less Epitaphy. 



133 



THERE IS PROOF FOR ME 

O life-giving Spring, 

When the sun is king; 

And Hfe is so full and so free; 

When the robins sing; 

And the echoes ring; 

'Tis the best of the year for me. 

How the muses play. 

On a bright May day. 

When the earth with new green is crest; 

When the birds are gay, 

In the sun's soft ray; — 

It is then that I live the best. 

Where the dappled shade 
'Neath the tree was made, 
By the foliage scarcely grown; 
And the soft wind played 
With the tender blade, — 
It was there that I sat alone. 

And a bright sunbeam. 

As it kissed the stream, — 

Where it wound through the rocks 

below, — 
Made the ripples seem 
Like an infant's dream. 
As the smiles sweetly come and go. 

134 



And I watched the fold 

Of a bloom unrolled, — 

By the touch of the morning breeze. 

'Tis a tale oft' told, — 

But as true as old; 

There are no other days like these. 

E'en the sweet perfume 

Of the flowers in bloom; 

And the life in a budding tree, — 

May dispel the gloom. 

That surrounds the tomb. 

Which the future reserves for me. 

Ye Scientist flee 

With thy doubtful plea! 

Ye Skeptical travel thy way! 

There is proof for me 

In the budding tree, — 

Of a great resurrection day. 



135 



FOR YOURSEL', WILLIE 

'Tis monie a day sin' we parted, Willie; 

Fu' monie a day; 
And weel I ken when ye started, Willie; 

Ken weel the day; 
Fu' monie a sleepless nicht I've spent; 
Fu' monie a prayer to heaven I've sent, — 

For yoursel', Willie. 

Ye mustna think I'd forget ye, Willie, 

Nae, far frae that; 
I am brawlie yet, dinna fret ye, Willie, 

For likes o' that. 
It seems but a day sin' but a lad, — 
Your bonnie face did mak me glad; 

Sae glad, Willie. 

Sae wide is the deep between us, Willie; 

Fu' monie a mile; 
And I wad ye hadna lea'n us, Willie, — 

For a' this while; 
Auld Scotland is hame for a' that's mine; 
And when ye're awa' it maks me pine, — 

For yoursel', Willie. 

I dinna ken sure that I'll live, Willie, 

Till ye come hame; 
And there's naething I wadna give, Willie,- 

Save my guid name, — 



136 



To look in your bonnie een again; 
And tak a kiss from your lips, as when 
A mere lad, Willie. 

And if I must see ye nae mair, Willie; 

Nae mair ava; 
Then gie o' your love a guid share, Willie; 

Though for awa'; 
And when I hae gaen to that world aboon, 
I'll wait, my bairn, at the heav'nly throne,- 

For yoursel', Willie. 



137 



I AM WIL\T I AM 

If I am not, in truth, what I profess to be. 
Then am I false, and what I am, thou canst 

not see. 
Yet I should wear no cloak to hide iniquity; 
Nor should I dare deny mine own infirmity. 

If in my weakness I should fail to know the right; 
Or else, alas, should lack the moral strength 

to fight 
Against temptations, and 'gainst sins which 

may ensnare, — 
I need but look to God in earnest, fervent 

prayer. 

The errors I have made, alas, may pages fill 
With blots v/ithin the record of my life, but still, — 
The gracious Judge knows well my heart, — 

its real intent; 
Knows which, of good or evil, is more prevalent. 

Today alone, is mine; and yesterday is past; 
The future I will leave with Him, who will at last, 
Judge me in kindest mercy, and whose wondrous 

love, — 
I trust, will lead me safely to His courts above. 



138 



BEYOND THE NIGHT 

Three score and ten, alas, 

Are gone too soon; 
Scarce does the morning pass, 

Ere it is noon; — 
Long ere our work is done. 

The waning hght 
Foretells the setting sun. 

And it is night. 

Then through death's lonely deep, 

Ne'er to return, — 
We pass, tho' friends may weep, 

Tho' hearts may yearn. 
Beyond, there is a light, — 

We need not stray; 
Beyond the gloomy night, — 

Eternal Day. 



139 



SONGS THAT LIVE 

O there is beauty in the song, — 
Which, when 'tis sung to me, 

Will lift me near the heav'nly throng; 
"Nearer my God to Thee". 

When darkness 'round about me lies, 
Dense as the shades of night; 

"To Thee, O Lord, I lift mine eyes", 
And sing, "Lead kindly light". 

Tho' clouds of disappointment roll 

'Twixt me and Calvary; 
Yet "Jesus, lover of my soul". 

Will lead me carefully. 

The "Rock of Ages cleft for me"; 

Nor cleft for me alone; 
Salvation thou hast offered free. 

And, full to everyone. 

"All hail the power of Jesus' name"; 

"My faith looks up to Thee": 
Thou art forevermore the same; — 

O Lord, "Abide with me". 

"Ashamed of Jesus" shall I be? 

Nay, I will praise instead; 
"Just as I am," He died for me; 

For me His blood was shed. 
140 



"Goodness and mercy all my life. 
Shall surely follow me; 

And in God's house forevermore. 
My dwelling place shall be". 



141 



GOD IN EVERYTHING 

I love the hills, the rocks, the creeks; 
I love the language nature speaks; 
I love the birds that sweetly sing; 
For I see God in everything. 

I love the mountains soaring high; 
I love the stars that deck the sky; 
I love the moon's soft lightening; 
For I see God in everything. 

I love the autumn leaves that fall; 
I love the trees, the flowers, and all; 
I love the time of gathering; 
For I see God in everything. 

I love the clouds, the beaming sun; 
I love the day that's just begun; 
I love the night's sweet slumbering; 
For I see God in everything. 

I love the perfume of the air; 
I love the beauty everywhere; 
I love the cool, rich, flowing spring; 
For I see God in everything. 

I love the ocean, deep and wide; 

I love the rivers, as they glide; 

I love the soft wind's murmuring; 

For I see God in everything. 

142 



I love the ripened grain, and grass; 
I love the seasons, as they pass; — 
The Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring ;- 
For I see God in everything. 



143 



THY SIRE 

That personage — ^thy Sire! 

Dost thou so soon forget 
His noble highness to admire? 

Or lov'st thou but thy mother? 
May he not praised be 
Who from thy youth admonished thee? 

Thou need'st not take one jot 

Of her deserved fame, 
That thou may'st add to his 

Who gavest her his name. 
Nay, nay! but to love's fire, 

Which burns within her breast. 
Thou addest flame. 

And mak'st her life more blest. 

His rank? What matters that? 

If high; true, thou can'st bless; 
If low; lay him no charge. 

And praise no less. 
Is he a hero not who fights his best and fails, 
As well as he who has no harder fought. 

And yet subdues what he assails ? 
Yea more, indeed! 
His courage thou should'st praise; 
For they who have not failed 

No praises need. 
Keep burning, then, that fire 
Of honor for thy sire. 



144 



BOBBIE BURNS 

O Bobbie Burns, there ne'er was ony 
Sae like yoursel', wi' songs sae bonnie; 
An' they wha honor ye be monie, 

Ower muckle ^arth; — 
An' nane a curse hae laid upon ye 

Sin' ye had birth. 

Aft' times the Deil fetch't hard to guide ye, 
But there was muckle guid inside ye 
That wadna let 'im sit bestride ye, 

An' haud ye there; 
But monie times did carefu' hide ye 

Frae a' his snare. 

E'en when ye wad be bousin' plenty, — 
Wi' welcome frien's, in thy ain shanty. 
An' cared na be thy kitchen scanty, — 

Nae blellum were ye: 
An' seldom wad ye get sae bluntie 

They haen to spur ye. 

Ye kenn'd sae weel Auld Nature, Bobbie, 

That singin' o' her was thy hobby; 

An' o' thy fame na death could rob ye; — 

A fool 't wad try it: 
An' livin' be thy songs yet, Bobbie, — 

Tho' ye be quiet. 



145 



Wi' a' the songs thy Musie sang us, 
There is na ain could muckle wrang us; 
An' there's nae song mair loved amang us 

Than "Auld Lang Syne"; 
An' while fu' monie Bards still thrang us, — 

The crown be thine. 



146 



20 tSf®, 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



